


Love With Its Back Turned

by BrightShiningAsTheSun



Category: Undrafted (2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 09:41:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19809667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightShiningAsTheSun/pseuds/BrightShiningAsTheSun
Summary: 'Ninety percent of true love is acute, ear-burning embarrassment."- Terry Pratchett





	Love With Its Back Turned

Everyone knew you hated each other. It was just a fact of life, the sky is blue, baseball fields are diamond-shaped, and you and Pat Murray couldn’t stand each other.

Though no one, not even yourselves by this point, could remember the origin of this resentment, it was still tangible after all these years. Just the sight of him made your teeth set on edge. When you saw him laughing with his friends, you could feel anger pressing up under your skin until you were hot all over.

Pat was no better. His control over his emotions was tenuous at the best of times, but then you, you with your snide remarks and disdainful gaze, it made his blood boil.

Despite this, and no matter how much he protested, his friends usually ended up inviting you along whenever they got together. And even if he got lucky and they didn’t, you would still be there as a friend of someone’s sister, or some other cruel twist of fate, and you’d spend the whole evening snapping at each other, bickering like children.

It also didn’t help that you worked at the only good diner in town, the one Pat’s friends visited once, if not twice a week, at least.

That day, the diner was busy, full of families eating an early dinner, but the D-Backs were regulars and the servers and the chef in the kitchen all waved as the boys came tumbling in. Squashed into one booth, Dells, Ty and Palacco on one side, Maz, Vinnie and Murray on the other, they hoped to order as soon as possible, ravenous after a long day’s practice.

Pat was stuck between the wall and Vinnie, but even that couldn’t dampen his good mood. He got a hit today, a good one too. He hadn’t stopped smiling all afternoon, even though he was sweaty and exhausted and Vinnie kept accidentally knocking his elbow into his ribs. That was until you approached the table, smiling brightly at his friends.

You asked how practice went, fondly turning Palacco’s cap around on his head and laughing when he complained about you messing up his hair.

Pat just played with the salt and pepper shakers, spinning them around between his fingers while you laughed with his friends. He could feel your eyes on him. You kept glancing at him, gauging his reaction when you purposefully asked about the game, but he didn’t see you smile to yourself when you got nothing out of him.

Eventually, a sharp cough from the kitchen caught your attention and you looked back to see your boss raising his eyebrows at you through the window. He didn’t mind you chatting with the customers, in fact it was encouraged, but you couldn’t stand around all day talking to your friends when the place was so busy.

You sighed and asked what they’d like to eat. You knew their orders by heart now, these boys were creatures of habit and you’d quickly become accustomed to their pre-game superstitions and post-practice rituals, but still asked out of politeness.

Scratching a definitive line under their drinks orders, you said, “Okay, if that’s everything-”

Pat finally looked up from the table top. “You haven’t taken my order.”

You didn’t look up from your notepad, still scribbling down shorthand notes, but your lip curled as you said, “Do you think you can manage to use your inside voice, Murray? This is a family place.”

Under the table, Pat’s hands balled into fists but he took in a long, deep breath, pushing down the sometimes almost overwhelming anger that sat in his chest. “Terrible fucking service,” he pulled a face at you, then turned to Ty. “Why do we even come here?”

“Cos the food is cheap. And good.”

“And the waitresses are _so_ enchanting,” Palacco tilted his head, batting his eyelashes at you.

You snorted, gently pushing his face away, then looked back at Pat. “C’mon, Murray, I don’t have all day.” You saw him roll his eyes, his jaw tight. But when Pat gave his order, it was in a quieter voice, spoken so sharply his words cut through the air.

You laughed softly, pleased with yourself for winning this round. On the field, he could shout and scream as much as he liked, but this was your turf and you had the upper-hand.

You wrote down his order with a self-satisfied smirk. “Thanks. Be back in a bit, boys.”

Pat shook his head, biting back a retort. He watched you leave, his gaze straying down to where your uniform ended halfway down your thigh. Your skirt swung as you walked. It was only when you disappeared behind the counter that he realised his bottom lip was caught between his teeth. He turned away, frowning.

Across from him, Ty looked exasperated. “Can you really not go five minutes without arguing?”

“She started it.”

“Yeah, c’mon, Pat. I’m a sensitive soul,” Vinnie rested his head on Pat’s shoulder, gazing up at him. “It hurts me to see you snap at each other like that.”

“Hurts him deeply,” Palacco chimed in.

“ _So_ deeply.”

“You _could_ make more of an effort to not be constantly at each other’s throats,” Maz put in, ever the mediator.

Dells nodded. “She’s not going anywhere.”

Pat scowled, starting to fidget with the salt shaker again. “Give it a rest.”

“When are you just gonna admit that you like her, mate?”

His shoulders tensed. Something in his gut twisted. When Pat looked up at Palacco and saw him grinning, he felt heat rise in his face, but not from anger. No, it was far worse, he was embarrassed. Pat shook his head. “You’re crazy, she hates my guts. And she’s so fucking infuriating.”

Ty snorted. “If this was the playground, you’d be pulling her pigtails”

“Oh, Pat would definitely be pulling on her hair if he had his way, you know what I’m saying?”

A sharp kick made Palacco yelp, pulling his knee up to his chest as he rubbed his sore ankle.

Pat glared at him from across the table, his face a humiliating shade of pink. “Shut the fuck up, Palacco!”

“Hey, what did I say, Murray? Family place. Watch that mouth.”

Of course you chose then to reappear, struggling under the weight of all their food. It was a fairly impressive sight but Pat was too embarrassed to appreciate it. You laid out their plates, clattering them against the table haphazardly, then went back for their drinks.

Maz smiled, shaking his head as he collected a few of his fries which had slid off his plate when you unceremoniously clunked it down on the table. “She’s a terrible waitress.”

“Sure is pretty though,” Palacco said, taking a bite of his burger. He saw Pat’s eye twitch and grinned, pleased with himself.

“She’s only working here cos she has to. She’s saving up for an apartment; that’s what my sister told me anyways,” Ty put in, not so much excusing your poor customer service skills but helping to explain them.

“She’s doing it on her own?”

“That’s tough, man.”

Pat didn’t say anything, just focused on his food.

//

As they were leaving, you waved goodbye to the boys, laughing when they shoved and tripped each other on their way out of the door. You moved to clear their table, smiling to yourself when you found they’d neatly stacked their plates and glasses to make things easier for you. They were idiots but they were sweet.

You collected your tip, slipping it into the pocket of your apron without counting it, but as your thumb brushed over the small stack of notes, something caught your eye. You pulled the money back out, rifling through the notes with the tips of your fingers.

Only two of the boys had paid in cash, the others had added their gratuity when they paid by card. It was kind of them to tip you at all, but someone had been far too generous. And you’d seen the boys tease Vinnie about the wodge of singles he had pulled from his wallet. That meant-

//

“Hey, Murray!”

Pat stopped in his tracks, your voice making his heart pick up. He turned slowly, just in time to see you jogging over.

“You left this.” You held out the twenty dollar bill he’d left behind after his meal.

Pat shook his head. “It’s tip money.”

“Is your math as bad as your swing? It’s too much.”

You weren’t smiling, the money still held out expectantly, waiting for him to take it back. Pat felt his muscles tense at your words, their sting making him flinch. He bit back an equally venomous response, not in the mood for a fight right now.

“Ty said you were trying to save up for an apartment. I thought...”

You shook your head, taking a step closer, hoping it would encourage him to take back the money. “I don’t do charity.”

Pat groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “It’s not fucking charity, it’s a tip.”

“Well, I don’t want it.”

“You took the other guys’ money.”

“This is different.”

Pat scoffed. “Because it’s from me.”

“I don’t want you lording this over me to all your friends. I don’t like owing people.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” He held up his palms, jaw tight. “It’s just a fucking tip, sweetheart, take it or leave it.”

Your hard stare eventually softened. You retracted your hand, stunned and confused, half expecting him to change his mind. But Pat’s stern expression didn’t waver. He chewed his bottom lip, hazel eyes drifting between your gaze and somewhere over your shoulder.

You’d never seen him like this. Was he nervous? Surely not, Pat’s only emotions were angry and baseball, sometimes both at once. But now his perpetual frown was anxious, his hands fidgeting at his sides. He’d been nice, thoughtful even. That was new.

You waited, unsure of where to go from here. Then the taught air snapped, the tension melting away, and Pat’s scowl returned.

“This has been fun, as always,” he muttered, turning away to follow after his friends.

You felt a tug in your chest, sharp and inexplicable and completely unexpected, and before you could stop yourself, you called after him. “Murray?”

He stopped. You didn’t think he would. You didn’t even know what you wanted to say to him. Pat looked back, only just turning his broad shoulders. The midday sun made his eyes glow, and you wondered how you’d never noticed that his hair was actually red, not mousey brown at all.

“Thanks,” you said at last, frowning yourself now, confused by him, the situation, all of it.

Something flickered across Pat’s face and just for a moment, his scowl faded. Then his lip curled, the sun went behind a cloud, and order was restored.

“Whatever.” He carelessly waved his hand, turning his back on you. “See you around.”

You watched him walk away, heart pounding in your ears. God, he was infuriating. Grumbling under your breath, you turned and went back inside, just trying to focus on settling your anger before you had to talk to any customers.

If you’d waited just another second, just a moment more, you would’ve seen Pat look back, but the door had already swung shut behind you.

* * *

It was unbearably hot. The summer sun beat down on the small crowd gathered close to the chain-link fence. First, second and third bottles of water had been downed, ice creams dribbling down fingers and wrists. Caps, magazines, scoresheets had all been repurposed into makeshift fans.

Warms ups were over, the game had only just begun, and you were already sweating through your thin shirt. You didn’t get to come to as many of the D-Backs’ games as you’d like, your busy work schedule meant you didn’t always get the weekends off, but you’d finally been able to swap your shift.

You liked baseball, liked the thrill of the grass, the songs curling through the air, mixing with the red dust the players kicked up, but it was just too hot to enjoy anything today.

The D-Backs were batting first. You cheered at the top of your lungs as Palacco made it halfway around the bases after a good swing, jumping up and down and rattling the fence with fellow supporters.

//

Pat’s heart was thumping against his ribs. He tried to close his eyes, take in some deep breaths, but he could feel that regrettably familiar rage building up in his chest already. It flooded his veins, shackling his tongue, blinding him, and no matter how much his friends tried to keep him calm, he felt like a powder keg, the bat the lit match.

That desperate anxiety squeezed his throat. He stretched his fingers right out until their tips bent back, then balled his hands into fists. He heard the fantastic crack of the bat meeting the ball, and whoever was swinging scurried around to the first base. He couldn’t remember who was batting now, he just knew he was next.

But then, under the cheers of the small but dedicated crowd and the pounding feet against the hard dirt, he heard it, heard something clearer, different, important.

Pat opened his eyes. He raised his chin and looked out at the crowds. He usually didn't pay them much attention, most of the time they were flinging insults or unhelpful comments, so it was better for his blood pressure if he just blocked them out. But then he saw you, pressed against the fence, watching his teammates as they moved around the bases. You were smiling.

Pat felt heat rush to his cheeks, the tips of ears, his heart stumbling. He rose to his feet, getting a closer look but staying within the safety of the dugout. You were wearing the same red as his uniform, your hair tied back, fanning yourself with your hand as you laughed and chatted with the team’s friends and family, all crowded as close to the pitch as possible.

Pat’s breathing was shaky as he leaned against the edge of the dugout wall, folding his arms across his chest. He watched you laugh, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back, and had to look away, his teeth gritted, his heart pounding harder than he ever felt possible. Jesus, you were infuriating.

//

You heard Ty call out the next batter’s name and looked over at the dugout as the rest of the D-Backs cheered Zapata on. He walked out, waving to the crowds, much to their delight, and you found yourself smiling as you watched him spin the bat between his fingers.

You glanced back at the dugout and saw Pat halfway out into the sunlight. You kept telling yourself to look away, to focus on the game, but for some reason, you couldn't. Then Pat turned and looked right at you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then Pat winked at you, a smirk curling his lip. You felt your face flush. For some reason, try as you might, you couldn’t summon a scowl.

“Prick,” you muttered.

Beside you, your friend didn’t look up from her phone. “What?”

“Nothing.” You looked away, turning your attention back to the game. You could still feel Pat’s gaze on you. Despite the heat, you shivered.

The game progressed without incident, which was something of a miracle for the D-Backs. You could see the boys in the dugout deep in conversation, not paying attention to the game in the slightest, at least, not outwardly. You had a feeling they were keeping a closer watch than they let on.

The bat smacked into the ball, sending it soaring across the field, and all around you, the crowd cheered as Zapata ran.

Now it was Pat’s turn. While all around you, the crowd murmured and clapped, excited to see another player, especially one with such a famous temper, you kept your gaze on the field.

It happened just as you feared it would. Pat stepped up, nervously moving the bat between sweaty hands, trying to get a grip, metaphorically and literally. The pitcher raised his arm, Pat raised his bat. He swung, missed, cursed loud enough that they probably heard it in the next town. A woman a few feet from you covered her little girl’s ears.

This happened twice more, as it usually did, and Pat was out. Your gut twisted as you watched him scream and swear, flinging the bat against the dugout fence and storming off. The crowd nervously cheered him on, pitying, but behind you, you heard two men making fun of Pat. For some reason, it made you furious.

You left the fence, apologising over and over to every new person you squeezed past as you wove through the crowd. A cool breeze pressed your damp shirt against your back as you rounded the pitch and slipped through the gate, ducking around behind the dugout where you found Pat kicking the wall.

He stopped when he saw you but his chest was still heaving, his hands clenched. He looked surprised to see you, _you_ of all people, but it soon faded away as his anger pushed back.

You sighed, shaking your head. “You ever think of choosing a different game?” You smiled. “I don’t think baseball’s for you, sport.”

“Oh,” Pat scoffed, turning his back on you. “Oh, great, this is-” He gave a shaky laugh. “This is brilliant, this is just what I need, for you to come down here and fucking berate me. Well, I don’t need this right now, so just fuck off.”

You took a step closer, undeterred and unafraid. “If you paid any attention, you’d realise that that pitcher’s getting tired. It’s hot. He’s losing focus. But you can’t see what’s in front of your own face cos you’re too busy screaming like a fucking animal.”

Pat stopped, wheeling round to stare at you. His nose wrinkled, glowering with such venom that anyone else might’ve taken a wary step back. “What did you just say to me?”

His eye black was starting to run. You pushed down the urge to wipe away the smudges on his cheeks, matching his scowl instead. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Your team needs you.”

You saw his expression soften, only by a little, but it allowed you to relax too. You both looked up as the crowd roared. Someone else had made it home, then the umpire called out for everyone to change positions.

You met his gaze again. “You can do this,” you said quietly.

Pat’s shoulders sank. His breathing was still a little shaky but instead of fear or anger, there was a strange sort of sadness in his eyes, like he couldn’t understand what he was feeling.

He looked like he wanted to say something but you turned away before he had the chance. “Eyes front, Murray.”

He watched you walk away, confused by his own feelings, confused by you, which only served to make him angry again. But as Pat walked back to the dugout and saw you pressed against the fence again, he raised his chin, determined to do well.

You couldn’t keep your eyes off him for the rest of the game. Pat was a much better fielder than he was a hitter, but now his confidence was back and it really was something. He strode across the grass, sharp eyes focused, listening carefully to his teammates so that they all moved as one well-oiled machine.

You knew you should be paying attention to the game, or even to your friends who were also dotted around the field, not watching Pat Murray, the boy you couldn’t stand, the boy who hated the breath in your lungs. But every time you tried to focus, your attention always drifted back to him eventually.

Although he was some distance away, you could see the sweat on his forehead. As he slowly moved from foot to foot, his hips turned, rocking on the balls of his feet. His deep frown, that look of concentration, the muscles in his jaw taught, you couldn’t help wondering if he wore that same focused expression in everything he did.

You swallowed thickly, chest tight, but then the pitcher raised his arm and Pat visibly tensed. His shoulders hunched forwards, his well-toned back visible through his thin summer uniform. You watched the muscles in his arms shift under his skin, all wiry strength and slim lines, and felt your face grow hot, heat pooling in your stomach. You blamed it on the incessant sun, but then his long fingers curled and straightened at his sides, and you had to press your thighs together.

//

When you got home, you made a beeline for the bathtub, desperate to cool yourself off. But nothing helped dull the ache you felt. Groaning softly, you let your head fall back until it rested against the rim of the bath.

You tried to think of anything else, work, the book you’d been reading, the weather, _anything_ , but your face was still hot, your breaths shallow. All you could think about was the almost painful need thrumming through you.

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip as you let your hand drift between your thighs, muscles tensing as you finally gave yourself the attention you’d needed all afternoon. A loud groan slipped from your open mouth, you were very grateful no one was home.

You tried to focus on the pleasure alone but memories of Pat’s hands surfaced in your mind. You tried to push them away, confused and annoyed that he’d managed to invade your thoughts, but it was useless. Soon all you could think about was that look in his eyes, so serious and intense, pretending at first that it was him guiding your hands, and then that your fingers were his.

You gasped, fingers curling, and as you tipped over the edge, you moaned his name. With a long sigh, you sank deeper into the warm water, waiting for your heartbeat to return to normal. But your dopey, self-satisfied smile slowly disappeared as the reality of what had just happened sank onto your shoulders.

Embarrassment crept over your skin. You realised it was the first time you’d ever called Pat by his first name.

“Oh, fuck.”

* * *

Summer was drawing to a close but the days were still long and hot. Pat swept the back of his hand across his forehead, grimacing as he wiped it on his jeans.

Despite the heat, Ty had still insisted they meet at the diner to discuss plays for the next game while the boys just tried to enjoy their lunch.

The table they always sat at was the only one in the diner big enough to seat them all comfortably, and was set against the far wall. Usually, Pat would sit with his back to the rest of the restaurant, and by extension you, so his friends were surprised when he ducked into the other side of the booth before anyone else could sit down. They didn’t say anything, not wanting to start an argument, but Vinnie and Maz exchanged a knowing look when you came out of the kitchen and Pat visibly tensed.

Picking at his food, Pat was only half listening to Ty’s plan. It was their last game of the season, his last for a while, and he knew he should be paying attention, but he just didn’t have the energy today.

He would be in London in just a few months, studying abroad. He’d never even left his hometown and the thought of being so far from his friends, his family, it made him feel sick to his stomach.

He looked up when the kitchen door swung open again and you passed through, your arms loaded with plates. He watched you move, crossing the diner so smoothly and precisely, you looked like you were waltzing, rather than walking. You smiled at every customer, your nose scrunching when one of them made you laugh.

“Murray, pay attention.”

Pat’s gaze felt heavy as lead as he dragged it away from you. Ty was looking at him expectantly. He had to admit that he wasn’t paying attention. Beside him, Dells hid his smile behind his drink.

_Crash!_

They all looked up at the sudden shout. Across the diner, you’d dropped two plates on the floor, spilling food everywhere and making a horrible mess. But the cry had come from the man in the booth nearest to you. It looked like the tray had slipped from your grasp, dropping his lunch on the floor and somehow managing to spill his drink all over him.

“Shoot, I’m so sorry! Let me clean that up.” You grabbed some tissues from the counter and tried to dab at his shirt but the man grabbed your wrist.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going!” He pushed your hand away, ripping the tissues from your grasp so that he could clean himself up. “Clumsy idiot.”

Your retort died on your tongue. You were furious but for some reason, all you could get out were spluttered attempts at more apologies. Someone brushed by you, you assumed it was your boss, come to apologise, but their voice cut through the air, striking you and the man.

“Hey, don’t fucking talk to her like that, and don’t you dare ever fucking touch her.”

Pat pushed his way between you and the man, shocking you with his words and his sudden appearance.

“She spilt a damn soda into my lap!”

“It was an accident, she said she was sorry. Leave her alone.”

“Look, kid, I don’t know who you think you are-”

“I’m the guy who’s gonna kick your ass if you even fucking look at her again.”

The customer seemed a little intimidated. Pat was by no means particularly tall or muscly, not like some of the other guys on his team, but he was ruthless. Thunder and lightning raged inside him, his voice rumbling like a storm.

The diner had gone very quiet. You looked over at your friends. They’d all jumped from their seats the moment Pat suddenly vaulted out of the booth. They watched on nervously, unsure of whether to step in or not. But your shock had worn off and now you were just furious.

You apologised to the man one last time, then bent down to pick up the food and shards of broken plate that covered the floor, piling them onto your tray. You grabbed Pat’s sleeve with your free hand, half dragging him round to the back of the diner, past the kitchen and the staff room, and through the fire exit.

It opened out into an alley where the bins were kept, completely silent apart from the odd passing car. You finally let go of his sleeve, shoving him a little harder than necessary, but Pat hardly felt it. His chest was heaving, eyes dark and sharp. If you weren’t so angry, you were sure he might’ve taken your breath away.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Pat’s jaw fell open. “What?”

You turned and flung the broken fragments of plate into the nearest dumpster. “Yelling at customers? You’re gonna get me fired, Murray.”

“He was being an asshole!”

“And I can handle it!”

Pat groaned, dragging his hands down his face in frustration. “I know you can but that doesn’t mean you have to! I just wanted to-”

“What?” You cut him off. “What do you want?”

Pat looked away, unable to meet your gaze. In truth, he wasn’t sure why he’d defended you. It just happened. He couldn’t stand the thought of anyone yelling at you like that, and the man had grabbed your wrist so roughly… He saw red. It was just gut instinct, he couldn’t explain it at the time, and he certainly couldn’t explain it to you now, especially when you were looking at him like that.

He almost found it difficult to look at you, but he couldn’t look away either. You, you with your hair scraped back from your face and sweat shining on your forehead, your uniform unbuttoned down to your sternum. Pat could see the ridges of your collarbone, and the contrasting soft swell of your chest, rising and falling as you breathed deeply. He licked his lips. You were furious with him, your face flushed, eyes dark, and so close, closer than you’d ever been.

You shifted your weight onto your other leg, jutting your hip, your skirt riding up your thigh, and Pat’s gaze followed its path. He wondered how smooth your skin would feel, how warm you’d be under his palms, pushing your skirt further and further until he could wrap his long fingers around your thigh, hearing you gasp as he pressed in with his fingertips. He thought about pulling them up to wrap around his waist as he ground against you, that same dark look in your eyes, but full of want this time, not anger.

Pat swallowed and lifted his gaze again with some difficulty. He realised he was biting his lip and you were still waiting for an answer. He tried to think of something, anything, but his famous mouth had failed him again. You seemed to have that effect on him.

He opened his mouth, hoping a good response would just come to him eventually if he started talking, but then he saw the blood trickling down your palm. You’d cut it on one of the broken pieces of plate.

“You’re…”

You looked down to where he’d nervously gestured and saw the red stain dribbling off the tips of your fingers. It was only a small cut, you hadn’t even noticed it. Pat’s shadow shifted on the ground at your feet and when you looked up, he’d disappeared back into the diner.

Your heart stumbled, panicking. Your boss would be furious if he saw Pat in the restaurant again after his run-in with the customer, but before you could go after him, Pat came back out into the alley. He had a stack of damp paper towels bunched up in his hand, swiped from the kitchen. Without a word, he took your hand in his, turning it over so that your palm faced up.

You watched closely, curiously, as he gently dabbed the damp paper against your skin. His long fingers completely encompassed yours. All you could think about was how they’d curled at his sides as he waited to run to third, a bundle of potential kinetic energy.

Heat rose in your face as you remembered what happened later, after the game, when you pictured those same hands smoothing over your chest, trailing down your stomach to the crux of your thighs, and those fingers, which now moved so gently against your palm, pushing into you with a practiced certainty, his thumb pressing against you, soon joined by his tongue, his warm brown eyes locked on yours.

You pressed your thighs together uncomfortably, praying he wouldn’t notice, but Pat’s gaze was fixed on your palm. You were afraid he’d be able to feel your racing pulse under his fingertips as he worked, but if he did, he didn’t say anything.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

You’d only murmured the words, your voice getting lost somewhere along the way, but the alleyway was so quiet and so heavy with tension that it seemed to shatter the air between you.

Pat laughed softly, his breath brushing your skin. It was the first genuine smile you’d seen on him, at least, the first directed at you. You tried to brand it onto your memory, fearing that you might never see it again, the little creases by the corners of his mouth, the way his eyebrows pushed together, his eyes narrowing.

“You’re bleeding, sweetheart. I’m not that much of an asshole.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

That made him laugh again, and this time, you allowed yourself to laugh too. It was strange. Not bad, just different, new. You both seemed to realise at the same time that this was the longest you’d ever gone without arguing. And, even more poignant, the first time you’d ever actually touched.

“Vinnie said you were going away for school,” you said after a while, hoping to ease the frankly unbearable tension between you.

Pat’s smile slipped away, fleeting as breath on a mirror. He crumpled up the damp paper towels and shoved them into his pocket, pressing a few dry tissues against your palm and holding them there. He’d had the practice, years of cuts and scrapes from playing had taught him how to take care of himself. He’d never done it for anyone else though. In his wildest dreams, he could not have imagined ever doing it for you.

“I’m leaving in a few weeks.”

“You going far?”

“Uh, yeah, I s’pose. England.”

“They have baseball in England?”

“They will do by the time I’m through.”

You huffed, your gaze falling to your hand. You missed the way Pat glanced at you with a little smile. He still had your hand between his. He was so gentle, far more gentle than you’d expected. It surprised you that he could be so explosive during a game, but so quiet off the field, and even more surprising that he was still holding your hand.

“You excited?”

Pat nodded, uncharacteristically reticent.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Why, you gonna miss me?”

You scoffed. “No.”

It was an instinctive reaction. You and Pat had been snapping at each other since the day you met, you thought he was poking fun at you. But when you met his gaze, Pat wasn’t smirking.

You watched, heart pounding, as something shifted in his eyes, his lips pressing together. He looked away, the corner of his mouth twitching uncomfortably, and his hands left yours. You missed their warmth immediately, missed how safe you felt with his big hands covering yours.

“You got it?” he asked quietly, already stepping backwards.

You nodded faintly, worry dripping like poison in your gut when he still didn’t smile. Keeping the tissues pressed to your palm, you watched him walk away, feeling out of step. You didn’t know what you’d done wrong.

“Murray....” His name fell from your lips so quietly, you barely heard it. He didn’t look back. “Shit.”

You looked between your hand, which had finally stopped bleeding, the kitchen where your boss had started to call your name, wondering where you’d got to, and the boy, a man really, walking away from you.

You couldn’t understand what you’d said to upset him. You didn’t think Pat could even get upset, not like this. He screamed, he broke bats in half, but that was all on the field. Away from the game, he was a pretty normal guy when he wasn’t teasing you mercilessly, but you’d never seen him like this.

It left you feeling hollow inside. Something in the back of your head screamed at you to call after him again, something in your chest pushed forward against your ribs, urging you to follow him, but you didn’t do either of those things. There would be another time. You’d see him again soon.

* * *

But you didn’t see him again. After that day, his friends didn’t come into the diner for a while, all of them busy with school or jobs of their own. When they did finally manage to get together and visit their favourite haunt, Pat wasn’t with them. He’d already left. 

You felt cold sadness sink like a stone to the pit of your stomach, sitting there heavily for the rest of the day. Every time you found yourself wondering why his absence bothered you so much, you chastised yourself, forcing yourself to focus on your work.

That only worked for so long. Soon you had to go home, lying in bed alone with your thoughts. In all the years you’d known him, Pat’s name had only ever been associated with a spark of anger flaring in your chest, but now there was something else, something different.

You supposed you thought about him a lot, and most often after you’d spent time with him. You thought about what you might say the next time you saw him, a plan of verbal attack, trying to anticipate how he would reply and rehearsing your response. Thinking about him used to feel exciting, now it left you feeling empty, bitter in a way you couldn’t decipher, and overwhelmingly lonely. 

The summer passed, and the flowers died, and the leaves fell, and Pat still hadn’t come home. Soon you grew frustrated with yourself, that awful confusing sadness evolving into anger.

Even though you didn’t know why, you resented him for leaving, for swanning off without so much as a goodbye or a backward glance. Whenever anyone brought him up, you either zoned out or tried to steer the conversation in a different direction, the very mention of his name making your heart thud.

Autumn passed with no news. You worked, you had fun with your friends, you worked, laughed, sang, saved, worked some more, and all the while, you thought of nothing but him, hating yourself for it, wondering if he was thinking about you too. 

Then winter came and you spent the holidays with your family. For a while, everything seemed to fall back into place, the way traditions and routines always tricked you out of time and into somewhere better and happier. 

But then a few days before New Year’s Eve, you bumped into Vinnie at the hardware store where you were both gathering decorations. He asked how your holidays went, about your family, only mentioning that Pat was home as you were parting ways.

He said it so casually, you almost missed it, but then your heart caught up with your brain and you almost tripped. Pat had been home for weeks now. Vinnie grinned at you, saying something along the lines of _‘What, he didn’t tell you?’_ but you were too stunned to respond. 

You rolled this information around in your head for days. Trying to figure out your own feelings was exhausting, and with every passing day, you only grew more frustrated with yourself. Every time you worked up the courage to see him, you managed to talk yourself out of it again.

Just after New Year’s, Palacco invited you to a party he was having. You accepted the invitation without thinking about it, realising too late that all the D-Backs would be there, including Pat. 

You panicked, worrying about what you might say to him when you saw him again, and what you might feel. But then when you got into work the next day, you found out that your boss couldn’t give you the time off. You missed the party, and your chance to see Pat again.

Your relief lasted just a few hours. Soon, dysphoria clouded your thoughts. All you could think about was the look on Pat’s face the last time you saw him, the angle of his jaw as he focused on your hand, held so carefully in his own. 

Soon the need to see him again became so overwhelming that a few days later, you found yourself at his house.

Mr. Murray seemed surprised to see you. You and Pat had known each other for most of your lives and you’d met his father many times. He’d always been kind, funny, and had wondered aloud, on multiple occasions, why you and Pat couldn’t just leave your differences behind you and be friends, much to yours and Pat’s embarrassment. 

You asked if Pat was home, hoping you didn’t sound quite as breathless as you feared you did. Your heart sank as Brian gave you a sympathetic look. He was already gone. You’d missed him by one day. 

* * *

Lying on the thin mattress of his temporary bedroom, Pat gazed up at the dark ceiling. He wasn’t used to this feeling, this loneliness. He’d always been surrounded by family or friends, there was always someone bothering him at home. Now his room was completely silent apart from the occasional siren from the city outside, or someone in the next room playing their music too loud.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He squinted against the white light from the screen, quickly turning down the brightness before his eyes started to sting. It was a message from his dad. Pat quickly glanced over it, assuming he’d left something at home or that his dad was just saying goodnight, but then he caught sight of your name.

He sat up, rubbing his tired eyes and rereading the message. You’d come looking for him? Heart hammering, Pat read the text again and again and again until he almost knew it by heart. He felt his stomach twist when he read that his dad had given you his phone number, so he should look out for your call. 

“Fuck,” Pat locked his phone, pressing the edge against his forehead as he processed the news. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” 

He waited for you to call, he waited all night. The time difference meant it was still only the afternoon when his dad texted, so he waited. By the time he finally drifted off to sleep, it was almost 4am, too exhausted to keep his eyes open any longer.

From then on, every time his phone lit up, he leapt for it, just in case it was you. But it never was. And every time he got his hopes up, he hated himself for it.

Pat didn’t even know why he was so eager to hear from you. The last time you spoke, you made it very clear that you couldn’t care less where he was, or how he was doing. And why should you? You weren’t friends, you’d just always been there. For as long as he could remember.

Spring rolled around quickly. Pat spoke to his friends often, over the phone, on their ridiculously chaotic group chat, or through Skype. Try as he might, the conversation away seemed to turn to you. 

They saw you often, now that they had more free time and they could visit the diner as often as they used to.

At first, it bothered him. They were constantly teasing him about how he must miss you. Then Pat told his friends that his dad had given you his number, which only made things worse. He wasn’t sure why he’d told them, perhaps a small part of him hoped they might be able to explain why you still hadn’t called.

Then, as the weeks went by, Maz dropped the first bombshell. _She asked what you were up to today._

Later, it was Zapata. _I talked to her at her birthday party. All she wanted to talk about was you._

Around March, Vinnie said, _She got her own apartment, at last! She said to thank you, Pat, and that she owes you a twenty. Whatever that means._

Then Dells. _You ever notice that she hasn’t dated anyone the whole time we’ve known her?_

That made Pat flush, even from thousands of miles away. Because he had noticed. He had. And he hadn’t dated anyone either. 

It was difficult at first, but soon he managed to swallow his pride and ask how you were getting on too. Of course, his friends teased him mercilessly. Pat just told them to shut up, then asked again. 

But then it was May, a whole nine months after he last saw you, and you still hadn’t called, hadn’t reached out to him at all, and it made him so sad, he couldn’t even bear to think about you anymore. But his friends still talked about you every day, a constant, panging reminder. 

So he lied. He started to brag about all the girls here, how they practically fell over him, how they loved his accent and crowded him with questions about baseball. He lied so well, he thought his friends really believed him. 

//

They didn’t. They saw through him like a window. But they told you the first chance they got, about how all the British girls loved him. They couldn’t have predicted just how angry it would make you. 

When Palacco broke the news, you frowned, asked why on earth he thought you’d care about that, then dropped his plate down on the table so roughly that his food almost fell into his lap. 

//

Pat was getting ready for bed when they told him what they’d done. He tripped over his pyjama pants, shouting _‘you did what?!’_ so loudly that his neighbour actually knocked on his door to ask if he was alright.

Panic seeped through him. He ended the call, throwing his phone across the room so that it landed on his bed while he paced the floor. His throat felt tight and sore like he wanted to scream but when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a pitiful sob.

What had he done? He didn’t even know why it freaked him out so much, the idea of you thinking he’d looked at other girls, that he’d ever looked at anyone else. He didn’t want to look at them, he’d tried, god, he’d tried for so long, for years. He knew he could, and definitely should, but in the end, it left him feeling empty, like something was missing, it wasn’t right.

He tried that night. The friends that he’d made during his stay took him to the pub in town, and halfway through the night, a very beautiful girl started talking to him, _him_.

Pat knew he should be all over her and he should let her be all over him, because why not? He wasn’t with anyone and neither was she, he had no reason to feel guilty. But the moment the girl put her hand on his thigh, he didn’t feel anything apart from sick to his stomach.

He excused himself, stepping outside for a few moments to gulp in the cool night air. The stars were so far away here, blanketed by light pollution from the city, so the night was black and lonely. He closed his eyes, trying to slow his racing heart, but he felt so awful, just so lost and confused and upset, and he still didn’t know why. 

He let his friends know he was leaving, assuring them that he was fine and he just wanted to get an early night.

Back at his accommodation, Pat collapsed onto a bed that wasn’t really his, still fully dressed, the girl’s perfume sticking to his skin. He felt more alone than ever.

Then his phone lit up. He’d long since given up the hope that you might contact him but he saw it was from Maz. He’d sent him a video.

It was late afternoon back home. Sun glared across the camera lens but he could just about make out his friends, people he’d known almost all his life, silhouetted against the burning orange light.

They were playing baseball in the park, just a friendly game but still outrageously competitive. Pat smiled, turning over onto his side, holding the phone so close to his face that the screen was all he could see and it almost felt like he was really there.

He could hear Maz narrating the plays, interceded every so often with news from home. Not much had happened in his absence, Pat was happy to hear, but they missed him. Then the camera panned round and he head Maz ask, _‘Anything to add?’_

And then there was you. Nothing but you. It looked like you’d just got out of work. You were walking towards Maz, laughing at him and telling him to stop filming you before you broke his phone in half. 

Pat’s heart clenched as you reached back to tie up your hair, a focused frown on your face as Maz brought you up to speed. He turned up the volume as you spoke, letting your voice wash over him, warm and soft as honey.

Maz said something that Pat didn’t catch but it made you laugh. It was the most wonderful sound he’d ever heard. Then the video flipped so that he was looking up at Maz’s face. He gave the camera, and by extension, Pat, a smug sort of smile, then said goodbye with a wave. Pat was so happy to see you, to hear your voice, he didn’t even care that Maz had poked fun at him.

He watched the video over and over, and every time he saw your smile, it made him so unbearably happy, he felt like his chest might burst. He paused the video on your face, just looking at you for a moment. You seemed to glow in the last of the sunlight.

Pat groaned softly at the sharp wrench in his chest, so painful it felt like someone had physically hurt him. He felt so lost. He couldn’t figure it out, any of it, you, his feelings, why any of this was happening to him.

He was so sure he hated you, and you hated him. That was the way it had always been. But now, all he could think about was the way you’d looked that day at the ballpark, sweaty and dishevelled as you told him to sort himself out, the only person who’d ever run after him when he lost it.

He wanted to make you laugh like Maz had in the video. He wanted to make you that happy every day. He wanted you to look at him like that, so warm and gentle and loving. He wanted to feel you under his hands, feel you clutch him just as tightly as he held you. He wanted to take away all your worries and trust you with his own. He wanted… He wanted you.

* * *

June surprised you. The year had dragged its feet for so long, it felt strange to finally reach the summer again.

You gazed out of the glass front of the restaurant, daydreaming about sitting in the park with your friends, feeling the cool breeze on your face, rather than sweating in a diner in the heart of town

With schools out, the restaurant was busier than ever and you couldn’t get any days off until September now. The only thing you had to look forward to was Friday night. A very rich friend of Barone’s was throwing a party in his townhouse while his parents were away. You’d laughed when you heard, it reminded you of the raucous high school parties you’d attended in the past, but you weren’t going to say no to a fun night in a fancy house.

You were so excited about the party that when the night finally arrived and you found your friends gathered in the living room, you didn’t notice the looks on their faces, a strange mix of excitement and nerves, until you were halfway across the room from them. Then you saw something that took your breath away. You froze, heart plummeting inside your chest, hardly believing your eyes as the boys awkwardly shuffled around to reveal- 

“Pat?” 

He looked up, startled to hear his name wrapped in your voice. He’d never heard you say it before. 

There was a pause, just a moment, wherein all you did was stare at each other. He looked just as you remembered, perhaps his hair was a little longer and that was a new jacket, but he looked just the same, still the same old idiot, your Pat Murray.

If your heart had stopped at the sight of him, it was hammering like a piston now. He was home early, you hadn’t expected to have to deal with seeing him again for another month or so. 

You were so sure you’d be angry when you saw him again, because you were, you hated him, you’d never been so furious with anyone. But now he was here, now he was real and he was back and shockingly, he was smiling at you.

You crossed the living room in about three steps and before either of you knew what was happening, you pulled him into a tight hug, holding him so close he could barely breathe, but Pat couldn’t care less.

You breathed him, pushing your face into his neck, and Pat’s shock slowly melted away. He closed his eyes, heart thudding so hard he was sure you must’ve been able to feel it.

He couldn’t believe this was real, he couldn’t believe you were here, holding him, he couldn’t believe this was the first time you’d ever properly touched, he couldn’t believe how much time he’d wasted, he couldn't believe he was home.

“Missed me, sweetheart?” 

And like that, the spell was broken. It felt like cold water had suddenly come rushing through your veins and you realised what you’d done. You pulled away, heart in your mouth, looking everywhere but at him. You could feel your friends’ eyes on you but all you cared about was Pat, his hands still outstretched towards you even though you’d moved away. 

“Glad you’re home,” you said in a quiet voice, then turned and moved through the crowds gathered in the living room. You just kept walking, eyes fixed on the floor, face burning with embarrassment. You didn’t care where you ended up, you just needed to get away. 

Pat stared after you, watching as you vanished into the crowds. The loud music echoing from a speaker in the corner that had thumped in his ears was now drowned out by the thudding of his own heart. He felt one of his friends rest a hand on his shoulder, probably making sure he was alright. He could hear them speaking too but their words echoed into obscurity. You looked so sad. 

His feet were moving under him. Soon he’d reached the stairs. Pat could hear his friends calling out to him, probably warning him not to follow you, but he’d never seen you look like that before, look at _him_ like that, and he’d waited so long to see you again, he wasn’t going to let you go so easily, the sound of you saying his name for the first time still murmuring through his mind like a favourite song.

The house was enormous, stupidly huge, and there were so many rooms to choose from. It took him so long to find you that when he finally caught sight of you, sitting on the floor with your back against the wall, he was seconds from panicking.

He could feel the party two floors below thrumming under his feet as he nervously approached you, but then you looked up and he saw the tears on your face, and his heart broke.

Pat sank to his knees in front of you, murmuring softly under his breath, breaking character at last, unable to help himself, unable to hold back any longer. Despite the pounding music, you could still hear him, clear as a bell.

“Oh, angel, I'm so sorry.” Pat reached for you with no hesitation. You’d broken the dam when you hugged him; years of almost, but never quite allowing yourselves to touch, all gone in a moment. His hands rested on your forearms, your shoulders, the sides of your face, brushing your tears away with his thumbs as he whispered, “I'm so sorry. I'm here, I got you.”

You’d never seen him like this, or heard him speak so gently. There was usually a tigreish, guarded look about him but now Pat’s eyes were open and soft, and so so brown in the low light. You felt him move closer and closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions whirling around inside you.

Pat kept murmuring to you, so close now that his breath brushed your skin. He was apologising, that wasn’t like him at all, calling you all sorts of sweet names that made your heart ache. Soon his lips followed his fingers, pressing soft kisses all over your face, gently pulling you closer until you were tight against him.

It felt so good to touch him. Pat was so warm and soft, you’d always denied yourself the pleasure of being close to him. Now he was everywhere, against your skin, filling your senses, his lips brushing your cheeks, kissing away your tears. It felt like a weight had lifted from your chest, a comically large boulder that had been pressing down on you for months, for almost a year, ever since the day he went away. The day he left. 

Something snapped in your chest, like someone lighting a match in the dark. Though your heart was screaming at you not to, you pushed away from him.

“Hey, what’s-”

“No,” you cut him off. “No, you’re- You can’t just show up out of the blue and start talking like that.” 

Pat stared at you like you’d slapped his face. His mouth hung open dumbly and he let out a series of choked, confused noises until he finally managed to get out, “What are you talking about?”

“You left, Pat! You left for a whole year and now you’re…” You trailed off, frightened of where your sentence was heading.

Down the hall, a few drunk party guests stumbled past, singing obnoxiously along to the music. You thought you saw Palacco somewhere amongst them, but then Pat grabbed your hand and pulled you through one of the countless doors on this floor.

It was dark in here but neither of you thought to turn on the light. You were in a spare bedroom, you could see the outline of a wardrobe against the wall and a squashy looking king size bed, but that was all you managed to glean from your surroundings before Pat stepped closer.

“You gotta help me out here, sweetheart, cos you’ve completely lost me.” 

His voice was low and gravelly. Despite your anger, the dark look in his eyes sent a shiver over your skin. You tried to push the thought away.

You were furious, you were so stupidly angry that he left and you still didn’t even know why. It was exasperating, frustrating, infuriating, like the answer was right in front of your face but you couldn’t see it. All you knew was that it was him, it was Pat’s fault, and you’d never been so mad in all your life.

“You! You’re an asshole and you hate me, and you always have and it’s always been like that! And then you- Then you started being nice to me and-“

“Woah, woah, hey, now, that’s not fair.”

“What?”

“You’ve always hated _me_!” 

“Are you really pulling the ‘you started it’ card now?”

“Well, it’s true!”

“God, you’re so immature!” 

Pat scoffed. “ _I’m_ immature? I’m not the one who was too proud to call even after you went to my fucking house and talked to my fucking dad.” 

That made you falter. You wondered who’d told him, but you shook yourself off, planting your feet, determined not to let him know he’d caught you off guard. “I’m too _proud_?”

“I kept waiting for you to talk to me and you never did!”

“You could’ve called me!”

“I didn’t have your number!”

“You could've _asked_!”

“I didn’t want you to think I was, you know...” He fumbled, losing his train of thought as you stepped closer. You looked so stupidly good tonight in that dress, for a moment he forgot where he was and that he was supposed to be angry with you. 

It was your turn to laugh. “Oh, now who’s too proud.” 

Your sharp tone helped him snap back into reality. “Listen, sweetheart-” 

“Stop calling me that!” You looked away, bottom lip caught between your teeth. “You know, if you wanted to…” Your heart was racing. You couldn’t believe you were even having this conversation. “If you liked me, you could’ve just said something.” 

Pat felt his stomach drop. “What?”

“That day at the diner, you stepped in front of me. I thought you… I thought you might…” You scowled, shaking your head. “And then you left and- Why did you leave?”

“I would’ve stayed if you asked me to.” 

All the air seemed to leave the room. That look in his eyes, it sent a pulse through you, electric. Pat moved closer, slow but sure like a jungle cat, and that look, that focused look he wore when he played, it made heat pool in your stomach and between your legs, your face unbearably hot. For the first time in a long while, you were speechless. Pat moved closer still and now he was only a hand's breadth away, within grabbing distance.

“Is that what you want?” he asked quietly. “Do you want me to stay?”

You both knew what he was really asking. _Do you want me?_

You weren’t sure who moved first, and in the future, both of you would argue it was the other, but the next thing you knew, Pat’s hands were on either side of your face, his mouth pressed firmly against yours, and it was the most incredible feeling you’d ever known.

You kissed him, hard and desperate, your heart rising up and up and up when he groaned into your mouth, hands sliding round to press against your back, pulling you as close to him as possible.

He’d missed you. He’d missed you so much and he’d gone so long without being able to touch you, he just needed you against him, all around him.

Your hands found their way into his hair and he made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a whine. It was the most wonderful sound you’d ever heard, and when you pulled, hard, he broke away to let out a moan that reverberated right through you, making your toes curl.

Suddenly his hands slipped down to your waist, holding you tight, and then he was backing you up against the wall. He kissed you like he’d never get the chance again. He was half afraid he wouldn’t, that soon you might come to your senses and realise you didn’t want him after all, or he’d wake up in his cold, dark room, half the world away. But no, you were real, you were here, and you were the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.

Pat haphazardly fumbled at the wall beside the door, searching for the light switch as his tongue pressed against yours, drawing a moan from you that you couldn’t believe you were capable of making. Light filled the room. He muttered something about wanting to get a good look at you before he was kissing you again, hungrily, his hands on either side of your face, his body pressed so tight against yours, you couldn’t tell where he ended and you began.

Mouth still moving against yours, he murmured your name, a question, making sure that this was what you wanted, and you answered him with a groan, hands clutching at his shoulders, keeping him against you.

You couldn’t believe this was real, that he was real. You couldn’t believe you finally, finally, got to touch him and feel him and smell him and taste him after all this time, after months of waiting, after years of knowing each other.

Your hands slid over his broad shoulders and down his neck and over his chest, fingers finding the top button of his shirt and unhooking it with ease, like he was meant for you, like you were the only one in the world with the power and the right to have him.

“I’m still mad at you,” you gasped against his insistent mouth, fingers quickly working their way through the rest of his buttons. Pat smiled against your mouth, just for a second, but you felt it, and it made your heart hum happily.

“I’m still fucking furious with you.” He groaned, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth, the way he must have imagined doing a hundred times over the past few months. Your needy moan was music to his ears.

“That mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble one day,” you panted in between kisses, gasping as he rocked his hips against yours.

Pat leaned back just far enough to meet your gaze. “Shut me up then.” 

His antagonising, smug grin was so familiar, it made you pause, just for a moment. You’d missed that smile, aggravating as it was.

You crashed your lips against his again, feeling a stab of pride when he practically whimpered against your mouth. God, he tasted so fantastic, and he smelled incredible, like sweat and summer and the red dirt on the baseball field and something manly and something else, something different. You thought it must be his temporary home in England, and suddenly you wanted nothing more than to kiss him and kiss him and hold him against you, just to get rid of that unfamiliar scent, to bring him back home to you, to erase any thoughts of him ever leaving you again.

You were vaguely aware of Pat locking the bedroom door and then he was pulling you away from the wall, guiding you backwards until your calves hit the bed. _Oh, no you don’t._

With a grin, you pulled him around so now his back was to the bed. You pushed him down onto the mattress, flashing him a bright smile as you kicked off your shoes and helped him with his, the both of you moving so quickly it was almost laughable.

You both groaned in relief into each other’s mouths as you straddled his lap, sinking down onto him, starved of each other after just a few moments apart.

Your hands pressed against his chest, tangling in his shirt, tugging him towards you as you rolled your hips against his, swallowing his desperate moan. You couldn’t seem to get close enough, it was never, ever enough.

You pushed his shirt off his shoulders, throwing it somewhere across the room, your mouth never leaving his. You tugged at the hem of the plain shirt he wore underneath, smiling to yourself. Layers, even in the summer. Same old Pat. “Take this off.” 

Pat tilted his head to look up at you, and you couldn’t resist pressing a kiss underneath his jaw.

“Always bossing me around.”

“You like it.”

“I do, but don't tell anyone.” Pat grinned and pulled his shirt over his head. Your dress soon joined it on the floor, and Pat let his hands rest on your waist, fingers brushing over your hips. You shivered despite the heat as he let his slow, almost longing gaze slip over you. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

He couldn’t figure out how he hadn't seen it sooner. Or perhaps he had. You were beautiful on the day you met and something, who could remember what, had rubbed you both up the wrong way, the day this whole thing started.

You were beautiful when you were at work and you were all tired smiles and patience, always making sure that everyone ate, even him. You were beautiful when you came to his games, jumping up and down as you cheered, making everything bounce in just the right way that he struck out even faster than usual.

You were beautiful on the day he left, and every night he was away from you, and on the day he decided to come home early. And right now, shining with sweat and life and happiness, you were the most wonderful thing he’d ever seen.

He let his hands smooth down your chest, over your breasts, then down your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You groaned as he met your gaze, slipping his hands round to grab your ass, squeezing you between his long fingers. Then he tugged you closer, and even through all the layers that still separated you, you could feel how much he wanted you as your hips met his.

With an outstanding groan, Pat slipped one hand up your back and stood up, pulling your thighs around his waist so that you clung to him for just a moment before he pressed you against the mattress, clambering on top of you with all the finesse of a man who’d been waiting his whole life for you.

His mouth found yours, all tenderness forgotten for the moment as his tongue slipped past your lips, kissing you so deeply you saw stars. 

“I missed you.” He pressed hot, wet kisses along your jaw to your neck. “I missed you so fucking much.”

“Thought about you every day.” You gasped as his teeth nicked your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “I always do, you’re always there, always fucking thinking about you.”

“Always?” He looked up at you, eyebrows raised, not expecting you to answer honestly. 

You kissed his smug smile. “Especially then.”

You felt Pat moan against your throat, deep and low and awed.

“What do you think about?”

“You. Just you, Patrick.” 

Pat shook his head again, eyes closing for a moment as if in disbelief. “I love it when you call me that.”

His lips found the skin of your neck again, trailing his mouth down to your chest, leaving behind a series of deep purple marks you both knew would get noticed. You didn't mind, in fact it sent a thrill through you, the thought of people knowing what you’d been up to, the thought of people knowing you were his.

The thought was pushed from your head as Pat trailed his teeth and tongue along the edge of your bra, looking up at you for just a second to ask permission. When you nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly, he grinned and reached around you, unhooking your bra and pulling it from you, flinging it across the room somewhere.

He groaned at the sight of you, low and rumbling, and you tried to press your thighs together to ease the growing ache between them, but Pat’s knee blocked the way. You whined, frustrated and cross, just needing a bit of friction, and you felt his self-satisfied smile against your skin as he kissed each of your breasts gently, nuzzling his face into your soft skin.

You thought you heard him say something along the lines of _‘God, you’re perfect’_ but all coherent thoughts left your head as Pat’s tongue flicked over your nipple, flattened, before sucking it into his mouth.

“Fuck,” you moaned, back arching as you pulled him closer to you. Pat’s hand kneaded your other breast, pushing his thigh firmly against your core at the same time. You couldn’t contain your soft sound of approval, wriggling your hips down the bed, trying to grind against his thigh.

He laughed softly, charmed by your eagerness. He could feel your warmth even through his jeans. Moaning into your mouth, Pat let you grind against him for a moment then pulled his thigh away again.

You hated yourself for the whine of complaint that slipped from your lips, feeling that same familiar pang in your chest at his smug smile. But now you realised, all those years you’d felt heat under your skin when he looked at you like that, so arrogant and confident and self-assured, it was desire you felt, not anger. Or at least, a mix of the two.

Pat looked up at you, his eyes dark. You nodded quickly and that was all the confirmation he needed to keep going. His tongue swept over your other breast and then he was pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach to the sensitive skin below your hips.

You felt him settle between your thighs, hardly believing this was really happening. Your skin felt hot but you couldn’t stop shivering, kept on the brink of anticipation by his needful, desperate kisses. You were disappointed when he moved past where you wanted him most, his teeth grazing the insides of your thighs, then kissing the spot as if to apologise. He pressed a kiss to your calf, running his hand up the bare skin of your other leg, resting behind your knee.

He was taking his time. After all these wasted years, he was desperate to have you, to taste you and feel you squeeze around him. The thought made him shut his eyes with a sigh, his cock twitching in the confines of his jeans. But he was still mad at you, somewhere underneath it all, and the excitement he felt whenever you got frustrated with him, it was worth prolonging the agony a little longer.

He kissed his way back up your other leg, the change of pace making your heart race. You whined as he gently sank his teeth into your thigh.

“You got something to say there, sweetheart?” he murmured against your skin, his nose brushing against you through your underwear.

Your hands fell to his shoulders, trying to pull him closer to you. “Pat.”

The desperation in your voice went straight through him; Pat had to grind his hips against the mattress just to ease the tightness in his jeans. “God, I bet you taste so fucking good.” He buried his face between your legs, nuzzling you through the thin fabric of your underwear.

You were already soaking wet, but as his nose brushed against your clit, you bucked your hips towards him, gasping, fingers clutching his shoulders. “Patrick-”

He looked up at you, a crooked, dorky sort of smile offsetting the heated look in his eyes. He really did love it when you called him that. He couldn’t believe he’d managed to go all these years without hearing you moan his name, his new favourite sound.

You brushed a hand through his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan, the sweetest revenge for getting you so worked up with nothing to show for it. Desperate and hungry, you dove for his belt, unbuckling it with shaky fingers. You were suddenly very aware that this was Pat Murray on top of you. With a grin, you pulled his belt from his hips, perhaps a little more roughly than necessary, deciding that you’d much rather have him under you instead.

You hooked your leg around his, knocking him off balance so that he fell onto the bed beside you and you could settle in his lap again, immediately rocking your hips against his to relieve the pressure in your aching core.

“Fuck…”

His head fell back and you took advantage of the newly exposed skin, sucking a mark just below his jaw, his whines making you roll your hips against his again, harder now.

“You sound so good, Pat,” you groaned, right by his ear, and he clutched at your hips so tight, you knew you were going to have a bruise. The thought made the pulsing between your legs even worse. You needed him, needed him now.

You lifted off of him, making you both groan, missing the contact already. Both your hands scrambled at the waistband of his underwear, straining against the obscene outline of his hard cock. Your mouth was practically watering as you helped him ease them down his thighs, hissing slightly at the pressure it put on him. His gasp of relief as he was finally freed made you clench.

“Such a good boy,” you whispered and pressed a soft kiss just below his ear. Pat was panting now, the muscles in his jaw flexing and face flushed as he looked up at you intently. You smiled down at him before you lips found his again, kissing sloppily and messily, teeth clashing, all tongues and desperate moans and pawing hands.

You ground against him, shuddering at the heat that pulsed through you. Pat grabbed your ass, keeping your hips rocking against his, addicted to the feeling. He’d wanted you for so long, the thought of you waiting for him, wanting him too, never looking at anyone else… 

You bit down on his shoulder and Pat let out a shaky, guttural moan, eyes squeezed shut, suddenly overwhelmed with a pleasure he’d denied himself for so long. Just waiting for you.

“Always knew you’d be loud,” you grinned against his skin, kissing the spot where you’d left a dark bruise, so everyone would know he was yours. “People will hear us if you keep that up.”

“Let them hear.” Pat bucked his hips up to meet yours, making you cry out, clutching at his back, digging your nails into his toned shoulder blades. “See what you’ve done to me? God, you drive me crazy.”

He slipped his hand between you, flat against your stomach for a moment then smoothing down to slip inside your underwear. You whimpered, head falling to rest against his shoulder, as he finally brushed his fingers where you needed him most.

God, the sound of his fingers moving through you, it was obscene. You were sure you’d never been so stupidly turned on in all your life, and when his thumb found your clit at last, you swore you’d died and gone to heaven. You gasped as he pulled his fingers from you and thrust them into his mouth, groaning as he finally got to taste you, finally, finally, finally.

You watched him pull his fingers from his mouth, groaning as he licked his lips. “Need you, Pat, please.”

“You’ve got me, sweetheart, I’m all yours.” 

You felt your wetness trail down your thighs at his words. _All yours._ But something tugged at your heart, suddenly you felt close to tears. You pushed the feeling away, focusing on the matter at hand, or rather, the matter of his hands, tugging at your underwear, lifting you up with the other so that he could pull them down your thighs.

“Hurry up, Pat, God, m’so wet.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. He tore your underwear from you, the both of you laughing softly when they got caught on your ankles. He paused, taking a moment to just enjoy how drenched your underwear was, and all because of him, before he threw them onto the floor with the rest of your clothes.

Resting your hand on the side of his face, you kissed him with everything you had, the other gripping him with enough pressure that he gasped, bucking up into your hand, so sore and aching that the slightest touch was enough to get him close.

You broke the kiss as you slid down onto him, moaning into each other’s mouths, your nose crammed against his jaw as you finally felt him fill you up. It had been so long for both of you, you’d been waiting even though you didn’t know what for. Now you knew, you both did, you’d been waiting for each other. 

You swore under your breath at the delicious stretch, his hands pressing against your back holding you tight against his chest.

Pat groaned as you sank lower, so tight he could barely think straight. He huffed, gasping for breath as you rolled your hips, taking him even deeper.

“I love you.”

Pat’s eyes snapped open. He gazed up at you, watching as you lifted your head to stare at him. He didn’t mean to say it, it just slipped out. You were so close he could feel your heartbeat against his chest, hammering just as hard as his own. When you didn’t say anything, his throat felt tight with panic.

You gazed at him, your hand still holding his face. He looked so scared and hopeful and desperate. Pat Murray, your Pat Murray, rascally, passionate, loving, loyal, idiotic, brash, incredible, Pat Murray. His words echoed and echoed in your head, far louder and sweeter than the music drifting through the house from the party still raging below you.

Abruptly and unexpectedly, you realised you’d been waiting your whole life to hear him say those words, and you realised, “I love you too.”

Pat’s eyes shone. When he smiled, he put the moon and stars to shame. Then he was kissing you again, so slow and delicate, searching and sweet. The change of pace made your head spin, wondering how he could be so gentle after the sinful things he’d been moaning against your skin just a few moments ago. But you could feel him smiling against your mouth and realised you were smiling too.

Soon you grew impatient and purposefully clenched around him. Pat swore, his mouth still moving against yours, moaning _‘Christ, sweetheart’_ right into your mouth, and his hands fell to your waist. You laughed softly, so unspeakably happy that for a moment, you forgot you weren’t the only two people in the house, in the whole world.

You started to move, lifting your hips, slow at first but soon picking up speed as Pat’s hands grew more desperate, pawing at you, keeping you close against him, unable to help himself from thrusting his hips up to meet yours. Then suddenly, he couldn’t take it any longer.

He flipped you onto your back again, barely giving you time to get settled before he pulled out, only to thrust deeply back into you, making your breath hitch. You gasped into each other’s mouth, his nose brushing against yours, lips just catching as the two of you moved together.

“Feels so good, Pat, fuck- Oh!” He hit a sweet spot inside you, making your back arch, pressing your chest against his.

Pat wrapped his fingers around your jaw and devoured your mouth as you reached up to lace your arms around his neck, moaning so loud you were sure they’d be able to hear you downstairs but you couldn’t care less.

He pounded you even harder than before, his eyes rolling back in his head as he slipped easily in and out of your slick heat. His hand gripped your waist to steady himself, snapping his hips against yours.“That’s right, God, you’re so fucking tight.”

You yelped in pleasure, pulling him closer until there was no space between you. Your hands tangled in his hair and that only spurred him on, one hand slipping under your back, and the new angle made you see stars.

His hand moved down between you and he started to rub harsh circles against your clit, your filthy moans all he could hear. He wasn’t going to last long, and you were grateful because at this rate, neither were you. His circles caused your body to arch and stutter, your whines pushed into his mouth making Pat’s breathing falter.

Your movements grew sloppy and desperate and sweet and so, so hot as you felt your orgasm approach. He said those words again, _‘I love you’_ , but this time it was on purpose, it was to you, moaned into your own mouth, and you could’ve cried as you whispered it back.

“Pat, m’so close, m’so close-” You breathed out, and felt him nod, his nose bumping against yours.

The pressure was building and building and you knew you were close, so you held his face in your hands, kissing him so hard it made him whimper against your mouth. You felt beads of sweat run down your thigh as he lifted your leg against his hip and held you there, his body starting to tremble.

You kept his forehead pressed against yours, practically growling out, “God, I love you, please, Pat, please cum in me, fuck- Ah!”

Pat almost lost his damn mind, ducking his head to kiss you again. It was so messy, all teeth and tongue, and he groaned, “I love you so fucking much, cum for me, sweetheart. Come on, let go, I’ve got you.”

His words thrummed through you, the tension in your abdomen like a rubber band, about to snap. You rutted against him, chasing your release as your eyes squeezed shut, mouth hanging open in pure, unabashed pleasure. With one more perfectly angled thrust, Pat hit that perfect spot inside you. You screamed his name, back arching off the mattress as you clenched around him.

Pat cried out, falling over the edge at the same time, panting and groaning into your mouth before you pulled him down to kiss you again, just wanting him as close as possible, never wanting him to leave you again, never.

After a moment, he slowly pulled out, his sweaty, sticky skin rubbing against yours as he moved away, but only to sit up, looking down at you with open, honest, aching adoration. You moaned his name, waving at him to come back to you, but Pat just smiled, tired but so, so stupidly happy.

“Please, can I taste you? I gotta taste you.”

He settled between your thighs, and you didn’t have the energy to respond, even if you wanted to. Instead, you raised your hips slightly, invitingly, enjoying the ache in your burning muscles.

Pat groaned at the sight, licking a long, hot stripe over your heat, making your back arch again, so sensitive it felt like you could cum again right there. He grabbed hold of your hips, blearily swinging his arm across your pelvis to hold you down on the bed.

You tasted even better than he could have imagined, lapping up every drop of him and you, unintentionally bringing you close to the edge again. But the moment he sucked harshly at your swollen clit and you moaned, squirming under his touch, legs twitching, he smiled.

You ground your hips down onto him, the friction of his nose against you making your breath catch. Sweat slipping down your forehead, you reached out and threaded your fingers through his auburn hair, murmuring words of encouragement as he brought you closer and closer until you came again, your voice embarrassingly shaky, choking on his name.

He continued to gently suck at your clit, prolonging your orgasm for as long as possible, until you slumped against the bed, waving your hand at him again. Pat smiled. _Always so bossy._

He crawled over you, tired muscles shifting under taut, sweat-coated skin, until he could kiss you again, slow and loving. You held his face, keeping his lips against yours, moaning at the taste of you on his tongue, his mouth glistening.

Pat finally collapsed onto the bed next to you, breathing sparse. You watched his stomach rise and fall for a moment as you came back to your senses. You were still having a hard time believing this was real.

“You know, it’s funny,” you managed to get out after a few minutes. “For a second there, I thought I heard you say that you love me.”

Pat laughed softly, breathlessly, the most wonderful sound in the world. “Funny you should say that,” he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer until your head rested against his chest. “Cos I thought I heard you say the same thing.” He kissed the top of your head, smoothing his hand over your hair.

He grew quiet then. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head. But when he spoke again, he took you by surprise.

“I’m sorry I missed your birthday.”

You laughed, confused, and looked up at him. “What?”

“I was away for your birthday. I wanted to say something or- I don’t know, but I didn’t and I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek. “You’re an idiot, Pat Murray.”

He beamed at you, fingers trailing down the length of your back, then he bent his head, just brushing the tip of his nose against yours. “I’m not going back to England.”

“Good.”

“I’m gonna stay.”

“Good.”

He laughed. “You’re not even gonna pretend to insist that I should go back for the last year?”

You scoffed, reluctantly pulling away from him to get out of whoever’s bed this was. “I don’t wanna spend another minute without you, fuck a whole year.” You missed his relieved smile.

You found your underwear hanging over a lampshade and your dress almost kicked completely under the bed. Pat watched you the whole time, just admiring the way that you moved, the shape of you, as you walked around the room getting dressed.

He knew his friends would be wondering where you were. Pat was surprised they hadn’t come looking for you. He thought they might be afraid that you’d finally killed each other. Or maybe they knew, maybe they’d always known. _Assholes_.

Pat hurriedly got dressed, grimacing as he slid his tight jeans over his sweaty skin. His heart swelled when you came over to help him, hooking the last of his shirt buttons for him, smiling to yourself as your nimble fingers worked. Well, it was only fair, you were the one who tore them open in the first place.

When you looked up, Pat smiled down at you, his large hands resting on your waist. “I’ve got a game in two weeks. Against these assholes from New Jersey. Do you wanna come?”

“As your girlfriend?”

“I was gonna say ‘the love of my life’, but I suppose that works too.”

You scoffed, looking away, trying to hide your flushed face. But he pulled you closer, warm and soft and so, so inviting, and you felt him smiling as he kissed you, soft and slow and gentle.

“You know,” you murmured, “Just cos I’m in love with you, that doesn’t mean I’m suddenly gonna be nice to you.”

Pat laughed brightly, feeling so happy he thought he could bat a thousand. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”


End file.
